Page 28 of The Viscount and the Vixen
For a moment, it appeared Locksley might say something else, express his sorrow that the love had not been long lasting. Instead, he merely presented his back. She nearly laughed at her foolishness for thinking he might have cared one whit that her heart had been broken with such callous disregard.
The day before, Locksley had claimed to have no interest in love. Truthfully neither did she. It had stolen away her family and brought her to ruin, still had the ability to destroy her and wreck what she was striving to accomplish if she wasn’t careful.
The jacket went into place beautifully, obviously tailored expressly for him. There was no reason to, and yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself from gliding her hands across his shoulders, as though she needed to straighten the cloth.
He stepped away, brushed at one arm, although she could see no lint there. “I have to go over some papers at my desk for a bit, then I’ll go into breakfast. You’re welcome to join me after your bath.” He looked back at her. “Although your presence isn’t required. After all it is the daytime. If I don’t see you there, rest assured that I shall return by nightfall, and the marriage will be consummated with all due haste.”
If it was going to be done hastily, they might as well do it now. She could make that happen. “Will you help me dress?”
“Mrs.Barnaby can see to that. I have no interest whatsoever in putting clothes on you. Only in taking them off.”
With that, he walked out, closing the door in his wake. She took a deep breath. For the briefest of moments there, she’d feared he might be a danger to her heart. Thank goodness she’d judged correctly yesterday. He was exactly the sort of arrogant ass she could never love.
When she had awoken with that soft moan, it had taken everything within him not to pounce on the bed and take her then and there. It hadn’t mattered that his face was lathered or that she’d distracted him to such an extent that he very nearly sliced open his jugular. He could think of worse ways to go than with that luscious sound ringing in his ears. How could a woman be so gloriously sensual upon awakening?
Standing at the window in the library, watching as the fog began to dissipate, he admitted that he didn’t have any paperwork he needed to see to. He just wanted to give her time to bathe and perhaps join him for breakfast. He could have also delayed going to the mines, but being within reach of her without touching her would have tested his sanity. While she had offered herself during the day, they’d made a bargain he intended to keep. The day was hers; the night was his. One exception would place them on a slippery slope, and she might decide he shouldn’t have all the nights, and he had no plans whatsoever to give up a single one of those.
When he finally made his way to the breakfast dining room, he was disappointed to discover it empty save for Gilbert, who immediately poured his coffee before heading out for his plate. It pricked his temper that she could disappoint him. He didn’t care for her, so it made no sense whatsoever that she should elicit any emotion at all in him. It irritated him that he was still thinking about her an hour after he’d left her. Obviously she’d given him no further contemplation. She had her title, her allowance, a bath—
The last thought flew from his mind as she walked in, her cheeks flushed and pink, her dress a dark blue, buttons up to her throat, down to her wrists. At least it wasn’t the ghastly black in which she’d arrived. At least she wasn’t being a hypocrite and pretending to be in mourning after she’d wed another man. She was setting her grief aside, what little grief there may have been. He didn’t know her husband, didn’t want to know him, but still it bothered him that the man had managed to lose her love. To have had it and not appreciated it, to have not strived to hold on to it—
He shook his head, refusing to travel that path, and came to his feet. Moving to the chair opposite his, he pulled it out.
Her flush deepened. “You don’t have to wait on me.”
“Just a simple courtesy for my wife.”
She approached slowly, cautiously, as though she expected him to toss her on the table and have his way with her. With that particular thought crossing his mind, he realized he might have been unwise to invite her to breakfast.
As she sat, he inhaled the lingering fragrance of clean skin, her bath, and a fresh application of jasmine. His body reacted as though she’d begun undoing that enticing row of buttons. He moved quickly back to his chair before Portia could see how she affected him. Although when he was finally settled and looking at her, she gave him a secretive little uplifting of her lips that signaled she knew the impact she had on him.
He rather feared he might be blushing, damn it all to hell. Thank God Gilbert chose that moment to walk in holding a plate.
“Give it to Lady Locksley,” Locke said, casually picking up the newspaper as though enough wits remained to him that he could make sense of anything he might read.
“Good morning, m’lady,” Gilbert said. “Would you prefer tea or coffee?”
“Tea please.”
Gilbert saw to the task while Locke read the first sentence of the main article three times. He couldn’t concentrate with her at the table, in spite of his not wanting to be distracted by her. When the butler went to fetch another plate, she said, “Will your father be joining us?”
Setting down his paper, Locke realized that she looked considerably younger today, less weary, less troubled. More beautiful. Yesterday had been an apparition, an aberration. He cleared his throat. “He generally takes his meals in his room. Yesterday was an exception.”
“So you dine alone?”
“I have wine to keep me company.”
“At breakfast?”
He grinned. “No, then I have the paper.”
“Don’t let my presence stop you from reading it. You don’t have to entertain me.”
“I had no plans to.” Could he sound any more like an ass? “Where did you travel from to get here?”
She stopped halfway to reaching for her tea, seemed to ponder her answer, or perhaps it was merely the revealing of it that gave her pause. It struck him that for all the information about him that she’d gained last night, she’d revealed very little of herself. “London.”
His father no doubt knew from whence she hailed as he’d had to dispatch his correspondence to her. “You arrived in a mail coach. I would have thought my father would have sent you money so you could travel in more luxury.”
